The New Shadow
by cysne
Summary: Years after the War of the Ring,peace reigns upon a reborn Ennor. However,things are never meant to remain that calm for long and a scuffle in a small village of Anórien turns to epic proportions as a new evil threatens to rise. [on hold]
1. Of Minas Tirith And Gondor

**Disclaimer: I hate this stuff...  
  
A/N: HEY!!!! After a long while of sorry and pathetically lame stories, I've finally returned!! YAY ME!! Well, to tell you the truth I wouldn't have even started a new story if it wasn't for Helluin, who's helping me out! He likes to say he's the brain of the story but I always tell him otherwise... LOL! Well, enough rambling, ONWARDS!! This is more of an introduction, later on it will only get better and better! Hope you enjoy, and please, please, pleeeease... REVIEW!!! D**

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**Chapter I: Of Minas Tirith And Gondor**

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The bright sun was starting to descend in its final approach of the distant horizon. Mindolluin's stretching arm, aimed to the northeast, was already keeping the nearly horizontal sunrays from spreading freely over the eastern-most half of the city. The inhabitants were beginning to return to their homes, but, from the cloud-reaching top of the white tower of Ecthelion, King Elessar gazed upon his Kingdom's capital city, Minas Tirith, with pride. The late afternoon breeze brought with it the winter chill from the mountains, but Elessar still found it more soft and soothing than anything else as it swept past his face.  
  
He pondered on how different his Kingdom had become since he had claimed the throne, realising how much it had improved. Gondor had left its decadent period behind, rising to great prosperity and bliss from the aftermath of the War of the Ring like a phoenix from the ashes.  
  
The Elves had helped to embellish and repair the city, bringing undying trees and growing gardens that were the envy of all of Middle-Earth, only to then establish a small realm in Ithilien that afterwards became one of the fairest regions of Middle Earth. The Dwarves had also helped by carving the stone, building magnificent works for the city's squares and buildings, repairing the city's gate with both mithril and steel.  
  
But the city had not only been rebuilt in a physical way. People who had had no hope before now rejoiced in the newfound peace. Business and dealings had flourished, and Gondor had achieved a stability on all levels it had rarely ever acquired in the past days. Thanks to that, Minas Tirith had become the greatest and most important city in Middle Earth, a place where all, be they Men, Elves, Dwarves or perhaps Hobbits were welcome. As king Elessar was considering this, the sun completely set and bells rang throughout the city to announce the end of another uneventful day in the Fourth Age of the World.  
  
Unfortunately, for him, the bells were also announcing other matters, affairs he had to take care of as the King he was, and he groaned out loud with the incredible prospect as he made his way towards the palace.  
  
Hours later, Elessar found himself marvelling at his mind's ability to separate itself of the present and wander freely through happier memories, considering all the noise inside the fine stone chamber. Not that he wished to return to the past days, perilous as they were, but he almost rathered the times when he was naught but a ranger of the North. He had travelled through the four corners of the known world - from Gundabad to the Far Harad, and from the Ered Luin to the farthest reaches of Rhûn. The dark lord Sauron might have been powerful and orcs might have roamed the lands then, but, by Elbereth!, those days did make him feel more alive and useful than now.  
  
Being a King was not all of what he had expected. Well, perhaps at first it was, but now that the city was rebuilt and things were back in order, he found himself imprisoned without bars in his own city, his constant escort closer to jailers than protectors, and his agenda permanently full of petty, insignificant matters. Thus it was at the time.  
  
Elessar sat at the head of a great table, facing dozens of Gondorian representatives and politicians of every kind – his so-called table of counsellors. Contrary to what their name might have suggested, these men formed an assembly of great strength, with ruling power of its own. Although the final word on a meeting belonged to the King, the general opinion bore considerable weight, and the were a sort of unwritten law that dictated that a consensus had to be attained in order for any decision to be made.  
  
Presently, all were fiercely arguing amongst themselves and for more than once did Elessar have to interfere in order to peacen and ease the tempers in the discussion. It didn't take long, however, for him to give up on the ungrateful and clearly useless task and adopting a new tactic – to let them all tire and then strike his blow.  
  
"Who would have thought that the irrigation of the corn fields could have led to such a lit fight?..." He despondently thought to himself. Tempers kept heating, until the King ultimately decided it had gone far enough.  
  
"My Lords, that will suffice!" He yelled, standing up and pounding his fist on the table as he did so. The shouting immediately broke down. "The hour grows late and we have yet to reach the borders of any sort of consensus. I say we leave the subject for the day and continue at a later date. It will be nightime soon." Many bowed their heads in respect for the decision, but Aragorn almost disliked them more for that. "You shall be summoned at a later date. You may go."  
  
After the creaking of the wooden chairs scraping the floor as each rose and left slowly subsided, it was gradually replaced by an echoing silence. When the very last one of the men had crossed the threshold and the door resounded closed, Elessar allowed himself to lean back on his seat and relax, his head throbbing with a headache provoked by boredness and unwanted idleness.  
  
Letting go of that for now, he opened his eyes and made for the door, but stopped halfway there. There was one more occupant in the room whom he still hadn't noticed, and Elessar laughed at the similarities between them. The sound startled the other and awoke him.  
  
"I feel exactly the same way, my friend. Do you not long for adventure, like in the old days, other than to sit here and listen to the ramblings of greedy business men?" Aragorn said, exasperated.  
  
"Right you are, My Lord." He gave a slight bow in salutation. "And yet, we should be grateful, for it has been long since the White City has seen such peace and prosperity." The other reasoned.  
  
"Ah, Faramir!" Aragorn's afce broke into a sort of relieved grin and he went to welcome his old friend. "I was not aware that you were back from Ithilien! Come, let us celebrate our good riddance from those leeches and your wonderful return!"

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Mondrod was closing the gate of the city for the day, cursing under his breath the detention his superior had passed him, when he heard something in the distance. He was usually stationed as guard to the palace, but an unfortunate incident with too much drinking and the world's general sense of bad timing had landed him in that position every soldier had come to laugh at: locking the door at night. Instinctively, he stopped what he was doing and looked up to see a rider rush towards him.  
  
"Wait! Do not close the gates, I beg you!" The man shouted from atop the sweaty horse. Just as soon as the man had reached Mondrod, he added, "Please, let me in, sir! I must see the King! I bring urgent news!"  
  
Mondrod complied. The man seemed to have been riding for a long time, and even if it was well past the King's receiving hour for personal hearings, he was a foreigner and would need a place to stay. As he was leading the way through the seven biased and unaligned gates that stood between the Citadel where Ecthelion lay and the entrance, Mondrod took the time to examine the rider more closely.  
  
His clothing was rough and simple, stained not just by the ride but also from whatever life he had taken before it. He seemed to be a farmer, judging by his stature. Short and muscular, his skin was coloured by exposure to the sun and his hair cut short so as not to tamper with his sight. His mount confirmed it – the beast was obviously more accustomed to working on the fields pulling ploughs, other than to making long travels. Mondrod guessed he would be young, but he looked older and had the face of someone who had already seen much in his life.  
  
"What is your name, lad?" Mondrod asked, curious. The other had been contemplating the city's every little detail wide-eyed, trying to not let anything miss, and was surprised with the question. He stood for moments just looking at the guard in that kind of stupor one gets on such a place, worsened by the nervousness and anxiety that already coursed through his veins.  
  
"Andril, sir." Then, after a second thought, "Andril, son of Andruin, sir." Mondrod smiled. He had been right, the lad was young. He windered what it was that had rushed him to see the King, but figured it wasn't his place to ask.  
  
"Well, Andril, son of Andruin. From where do you hail?" Trivial as the questions might be, they would keep his mind off of his news.  
  
"Anórien, sir. From a small village a little ways below the Entwash." Mondrod thought he'd heard his voice quiver and wondered for a while if that had been a wise question.  
  
"Is this the first time you are in Minas Tirith, Andril?" He then asked, trying to turn the course of the small conversation.  
  
"Yes, sir. It is." He seemed more enthusiast now, having been obviously, and comprehensively, marvelled with the White City. "It is... wonderful!" Andril was searching for words, but Mondrod understood exactly what he meant.  
  
"Well, Andril, here we are. The palace. You wait here, I will just speak to the guards." The lad was desperately trying to cover up his scared face, but wasn't doing much of a job. Mondrod just patted him on the back and walked away towards the guards that traditionally protected the Citadel and the palace, bearing the uniform of the heirs of Elendil with the black cape and white tree and the winged mithril helm. After a short talk and plenty of nodding that Andril took as a good sign, Mondrod returned. "Follow me, lad."  
  
If Andril had thought the city itself was marvellous, then he could not describe the exquisiteness of the palace. Marble floors of black and white patterns that matched the carvings on the well-polished cylindrical green marble pillars supporting the high ceiling. But he didn't have the chance to take a good look at everything, for Mondrod was rushing him towards some doors down the hall.  
  
The guard pointed at a rich door to the left and explained what the guards had told him. "Through there are the King's chambers, but I'm told he's already retired for the day, so I'm taking you to see one of the counsellors. You're lucky he is still here, that way you can talk to him at once without waiting for morn."  
  
The lad's eyes quickly jumped from the door to Mondrod, who seemed to have turned his attention back ahead. Without warning, he took off towards the King's door. The guard heard the hurried steps, but when he looked, it was already ajar. He could just see another detention coming and ran after him.  
  
Andril crossed the antechamber in a flurry and didn't wait to go through the second set of doors with the guard calling after him.  
Opening them unexpectedly, the nervous and restless Andril found himself before the two imposing and noble figures of King Elessar and his Steward Faramir, who presently looked surprised at him.  
  
"My Lords, Andril, son of Andruin, of Anórien." Mondrod announced halting next to the boy seconds later and bowing his head.  
  
"I'm sorry for barging in like this, sir, but I came to warn you of something awful that has happened in my hometown." Andril could almost see the shakiness in his legs waning. He bowed and spoke with a voice so clear he never knew he had.  
  
Overcoming the inicial shock, Elessar figured he might as well hear what he had to say. "Speak, Andril, what brought you here before me?" The King encouraged him, looking mildly concerned.  
  
"My village, in Anórien, was attacked by a group of orcs. I fear that it may have been burnt to the ground and that I may be the sole survivor... They chose me to come warn you of this before they could reach the village."  
  
"You did well, lad. I shall think of the appropriate action to take. For now," the King motioned at the guard, "you will stay in a room that Mondrod will prepare for you and worry not, I will inform you when I decide what to do."  
  
"But sir! I-" Andril reacted, distressed by the way the King was so lightly dismissing him. He was silenced by Mondrod, who immediately bowed again and left the room again dragging him, solidly closing the doors behind them.  
  
Echoes of their voices on the hall slowly vanished, as the King turned to Faramir to ask for his opinion, "Well, Faramir, here we were, asking for one more adventure and..." He stopped mid-sentence. Faramir was looking thoroughly disturbed. "Are you feeling all right, my friend? Need I call a healer?" He asked.  
  
"Oh, no, no need, my Lord. But I have a bad feeling about this attack... A bad omen, a warning..." The steward said, pensively.  
  
"Nonsense! Surely 'tis no more than the work of a group of strayed orcs! Tragic, yes, but no more than that and certainly not threatening! The war is over, Faramir. No more enemies to be fought. There is no need to worry," the King disagreed.  
  
"If M'lord thinks so, but I still say that..." Faramir continued, but Aragorn cut off his word.  
  
"Enough, Faramir! We will not worry thus just because a couple of strayed orcs attacked a tiny village!" The King said.  
  
Faramir looked at him, utterly astonished with the King's reaction. It wasn't like Elessar at all to have spoken like that. But the other didn't see the look on his Steward's face, or if he did, he didn't mind it in the least, and added: "I will ride out and get rid of these orcs personally!" And Faramir decided not to argue further with the King.  
  
A disturbing silence fell in the room, like a veil of dust setting upon every object of a deserted room. Aragorn felt it and almost regretted his earlier rudeness, but he did not admit it, for even though remaining much the same as always, one of the things he had developed with his years of kingship was his pride.  
  
He bid his goodnights to Faramir and left the room, heading towards the courtyard where was the White Tree of Gondor. Once no more than a dead and sad trunk, the Tree had regained life at the same time Gondor had been reborn and now accompanied it's flourishing. It had blossomed and the fountain next to it sprinkled its leaves in a beautiful manner, like a constant shower of tiny stars from which the rainbow would occasionally peak on a sunny day.  
  
While he was looking at the small white flowers reflecting the fair moonlight from above, hoping the light would clear his thoughts, a little girl's voice calling to him brought him back from his state of reverie.  
  
"Father! Eldarion is teasing me because I miss Legolas!", she said as she ran out of a door to his right.  
  
"Silly! He has more to do than to hang around playing with you! He has his own affairs in Lasgalen and Ithilien!" A more grown up boy was running after her, jumping out of the very same door.  
  
"Come on, children, behave! Eldarion, stop nagging your sister, you're too old for that! Faeniel, my dear, Eldarion is right. Legolas cannot stay here the whole year, he has many things to do outside Minas Tirith", he said sweetly to the little lass.  
  
Faeniel still looked sad, but she always listened to her father, whom she loved most. He kissed them and, looking up as he was about to lead them inside to their rooms, he noticed Arwen standing by the door, looking at the threesome. She and Elessar shared a smile and took the children to their beds, bidding them goodnight. Feeling tired, he retreated to his chamber, eager to sleep. It had been a long day.

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TBC...**


	2. Ered Nimrais And The Road To Lasgalen

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Cysne's notes: Chapters usually take me a week tops to get done, but since there's two of us working on this, I suppose they'll take twice the time. Sorry, but we've been real busy with school lately...  
Star-stallion, thanks a million for the reviews!!! ;) I'm glad you liked both of the stories and I know Helluin loved that review also! Hope you enjoy this new chapter as well!  
The rest of you, please don't hesitate to press that wonderful purple square (Square!! Can you imagine anything more perfect?!) button at the bottom of the page! I assure you it does wonders! Thanks for reading! =)  
  
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Chapter II: The Ered Nimrais And The Road To Lasgalen  
  
  
First thing in the morning, King Elessar Telcontar took council with his captains to formally decide the best offensive plan against the orcs. Elessar chose to ride out himself with a small party, for he figured that no more than that was needed. The attack on the village had been one thing – the townsmen hadn't been expecting anything and, being poorly protected or even armed, they could have hardly fended off the creatures - but this was another. This time, the orcs would be facing seasoned warriors who would be purposefully looking for them. He also found that it would be an excellent opportunity to relive his old Ranger days, but that reasoning he kept to himself.  
  
None of the counsellors was really in favour of the King's decision, it was an unnecessary risk that he would be taking, but they did not argue, for he looked thoroughly determined. And given his background history and recent popularity in Gondor, it would be ill for their reputations to contest his decisions at the time being.  
  
As the bells rang announcing the sixth hour after the sunrise, a final decision had been made: Elessar would take a small group of his best knights, about twenty of them, and Andril, the surviving boy, to hunt down the orcs. They would leave the following morning.  
  
They didn't expect the fell beings to be well armoured or organised enough to defend themselves properly, since they were scarce these days and no longer had any leader. There was no need to delay the hunt with more soldiers; speed was of the essence. In the meanwhile, Faramir would stay in the city to rule as steward.  
  
Thus, the rest of the day was spent in preparations for the departure.  
  
Mondrod and Andril spent the afternoon looking over the armoury, trying to find a suitable chain mail and a small weapon for the lad. Even if he wouldn't be directly involved in the fight, he would be safer off that way. Andril was reluctant to go, he feared what he might find, but Elessar had said that he was needed to indicate the way. Many of the smaller villages in Anórien, like Andril's, didn't have a name, they could be called differently from place to place, and as so the party would not know where to look.  
  
On the other end of the palace grounds, Elessar had to deal with his wife Arwen instead. She didn't like it at all that he had decided to go. The Lady shared Faramir's concern, but just as Elessar repeatedly pointed out to her, which woman enjoyed seeing her man go to war? And Arwen had seen too much of that in the years up to the great War of the Ring that ended Sauron's dominion in Middle Earth. She tried to dissuade him still, but Elessar stood firm as a statue, determined as ever, and heeded it not.  
  
The next day, the fresh and brisk morning air greeted the warrior party assembled at the courtyard outside the royal palace. The horses, packed and ready to depart, stood anxiously waiting for their masters to say their farewells.  
  
"Father, are you sure you do not wish me to go with you?" Prince Eldarion, who was in that reckless period that immediately preceded the turning of age, discretely and casually asked his father if he could go.  
  
"Eldarion, you are still young. And there is no need to ail your mother with even more worry." He dismissed the Prince's silent protest, for what Elessar really meant to say was that Eldarion had no experience and he did not want to put him in danger, no matter how insignificant the threat may be. In truth, Eldarion was well nearing his seventeen years of age. "Trust me, you will be better here, and we shall be back in no more than a week, perhaps two." After a quick embrace, he turned to his wife.  
  
"Husband..." Arwen and Elessar had already discussed enough throughout the day before on account of it, but she risked a final attempt.  
  
"Do not trouble yourself. I tell you the same I told Eldarion; I will return shortly." He dried the tears in her eyes with a gentle thumb and kissed her hand, before mounting his horse.  
  
The stallion neighed in delight that they were finally leaving, and the other warriors followed their King's lead. A final exchange of looks and the party was off galloping through the seven gates of the White City, the horses' hooves echoing across the paved streets.  
  
"I have an ill feeling about this..." Arwen gloomily thought to herself, as all that was left of her husband's presence was the dust on the ground being carried by the wind.  
  
**~*~  
  
**The party headed north. They had been riding all day and had covered already a good stretch of land since departing Minas Tirith that morn. Pleased with their progress, it was with ease that Elessar gave the order to make camp for the night. Scouts would stay all around the encampment, just as a precaution, and watch turns were distributed.  
  
The sun was starting to set in the horizon to the far west – a vision for which Elessar had craved during the many years in which he was King. From Minas Tirith, one could not see the way Arien disappeared below the undefined horizontal line. He could also feel his muscles rejoice in the newfound freedom – perhaps being raised by elves had taken its toll on the Man, for he swore he could feel the weight of all the stone of the city lift from his bones. He felt young and vigorous once more.  
  
The following morning, the scents and sounds of delicious food being cooked waked the men. After replenishing themselves, they set their packs on the horses and strapped their swords to their belts, hoping to reach the attacked village before the sun completed two more cycles.  
  
As much as he hated to admit it, Elessar was not getting any younger. Having camped at the feet of the Ered Nimrais, the cold night's bite was not left unfelt and, just like the morning frost covered the low vegetation, Elessar's bones and muscles were sour and tense. He inwardly cursed the comfortable life he had accustomed himself to.  
  
They were to cross the imponent Ered Nimrais, the White Mountains, that day. Already furiously clinging to their cloaks in the depths of late Autumn, the men gave an extra shudder at the thought, but were thankful nonetheless that the path didn't take them all the way up to the very white peaks. They needed only to climb part of the slope, since Minas Tirith was located at one end of the ridge.  
  
The road wound itself precariously at the edge of cliffs, occasionally becoming extremely steep. The fine layer of snow and ice caused several of the horses to slip more than once, and it was only when his own steed lost balance that Elessar gave the order to dismount and continue on foot.  
  
The cold wind announcing an early Winter was harsh on their faces and burnt in their eyes. Elessar couldn't help but to think about the attempt of crossing Caradhras with the Fellowship. The thought made him smile bitterly in frustration and hope that the situation wouldn't repeat itself, but it gave him the energy to keep walking.  
  
At some point, it started to snow, and the white flakes that started to accompany the wind made it almost unbearable. At the first request from one of the warriors to stop, Elessar willingly agreed and they sought a place to take refuge. Again he found himself wishing, this time that they'd remembered to bring better clothing and furs. Winter was on his way, but unfortunately the cold had come ahead to torment them in anticipation.  
  
They found a convenient cavity in the rocky wall that would shelter them minimally. It also enabled them to get a small fire going, and the large group surrounded it. Everyone reached out their hands wrapped in cloth to the fire and Aragorn took the opportunity to consult one of the wisest and more experienced warriors present.  
  
"You know the lay of this land better than I do. Tell me, is the end of this stretch of our journey still far away?" The warriors closer to them turned their attention to hear the man's answer.  
  
"The road isn't much longer, we've already walked for more than the half of it. We should reach the end of it by afternoon." The faces of the people in the party became somewhat lighter, hearing they would soon be rid of all the cold, but Elessar considered something else.  
  
"Do you think there will be need to find a better shelter to rest? Will the weather worsen?" Caradhras was once again in his mind.  
  
"I know there was a second road a couple of meters back that led to a great cavern; I took refuge there many times whenever I was caught in a storm. But I don't think it necessary, my Lord. We will be able to proceed."  
  
"Good." Then he raised his voice so that everyone would hear. "Warm yourselves the best you can. We go out again as soon as possible." The warriors' expressions varied from relief that they'd be going to a more comfortable place and despair that they'd have to face the elements again. Andril fell into the second group.  
  
Elessar understood them entirely. He rathered they didn't have to walk further in the cold so soon, but it was something inevitable. He remembered Caradhras again, as he dug his booted feet in the thickening layer of snow and pulled his horse, and remembered his good friend Legolas as well. _That elf would have been walking merrily around here without a care in the world_, Elessar thought. _I wonder what he'd say if he saw us now. Probably that he would go fetch the sun!  
  
_**~*~  
  
**The night was peaceful and quiet, yet the elf was disturbed by his dreams. Gradually, the deep shuddering breaths gave way to moans, louder and louder, till the point when he had to shout "NNOOO!!" out to the night and woke up, remembering only flashes of his nightmare.  
  
He abruptly sat up, facing the west. The moon was starting to fade in the clearing sky, and its white reflection could be guessed in the distance, through the night's mist, over the Great River's spreading waters. In only a minute, however, Gwilor was at Legolas' side, bow in hand.  
  
"Mellon, something troubles you?" He'd heard the scream and had left his watch place to come see his friend, with a concerned face and a reassuring hand on the shoulder.  
  
Legolas shook his head in response, hoping at the same time to put behind him the images of the battle for Minas Tirith of years ago. Forgetting them was something that he'd given up long ago.  
  
"Memories, that's all." He said with a slight smile, and Gwilor returned to his watch, knowing full well but still wishing that there was something he could do to comfort his friend.  
  
After a while of vain thinking, the elven Prince suddenly grew worried. He had stumbled upon a scene that he did not remember belonging to the real battle: Aragorn (strangely with his formal royal outfit), being stabbed in the back by an orc with a foul and rotten grin.It was then that he had awoken.  
  
He stood for only a moment longer, forcing himself to remember more of this new scene, but instantly realised that it didn't matter: it was no more than a nightmare. He lay down once again and watched the sun's light timidly spilling over the grounds, as he waited for day to break.  
  
By the time he'd decided to finally get up, the elf had forgotten his dream altogether and hastily gathered his things in his pack to continue on his journey. He was going to visit his father, King Thranduil, to the northern Eryn Lasgalen, former Mirkwood.  
  
Gwilor was a friend who presented the excuse that he missed Lasgalen and wanted to see it again to go along with Legolas, but the Prince knew better. He knew that Gwilor had just returned to Ithilien months back from one of those very visits, and knew that the other just couldn't stand that Legolas was to travel on his own. Habits of more dangerous days were still too fresh to let go of, but Legolas didn't mind in the least. He was actually very grateful for the company.  
  
He found Gwilor already devouring his breakfast and wasted no time in joining him, after a comment on how he resembled a Hobbit that earned him a swat on the back of the neck. They left soon afterwards, for Legolas missed his relatives dearly, having not seen them for more than a year, and wished not to take longer than strictly necessary to get there.  
  
As they were walking in amicable silence, Legolas wondered on his departure from Ithilien, how he had approached the gates of the elven colony and merrily said his goodbyes to his people, and beheld the blissof that beautiful city for the last time.  
  
By the end of that day, the two companions had left the green regions completely and braced themselves for a two days' walk among nothing but stone. They were nearing the southern counterforts of the Emyn Muil, but far from the Dead Marshes. They would not go that way, for Sauron's foul influence was still felt in those lands. There they set camp and decided that they would take the long way around and go through the mountains.  
  
As expected, a pair of days later, they were leaving the rough and sharp edges of the hills. Thanking the Valar for the end of the arid and labyrinthical lands that forced them to take special attention to the sun and stars for directions, they rejoiced that they were able to move fast once again in the plains that followed.  
  
"Ai, Yavanna! Why have you abandoned this poor land? Please, bless it with life once again, for it deserves a second chance." Gwilor said as a farewell to the Emyn Muil.**  
  
**They looked north and saw the Brown Lands opening to meet them, and, in the West, the Anduin, its waters rushing as ever to meet the imposing Argonath. Again they camped for the night for a few hours alone; they didn't need more than that.  
  
Long before the sun had fully risen from the smooth horizon in the East, Legolas saw the shadow of an eagle high in the sky, where mortal eyes couldn't see her. She flew towards West, made a few circles above the two, and continued heading North. Wondering if it was any of Gwaihir's eagles he'd just met, he too continued his travel to the North.  
  
Seeing the eagle, he began to think of something he had already noticed, but to which he'd paid no heed at the time. _I wonder as to the reason of this silence... The birds are speechless and the trees are tense. 'Tis as if an unseen danger was lurking behind every shadow, haunting them..._**  
  
**In fact, what leaves had endured Autumn and remained in the scarce trees were ominously still, there wasn't the tiniest breeze in the air and no sound but for the elves' light and almost imperceptible steps could be heard. He gazed searching for any life signs in the area, but everything seemed lifeless.  
  
Legolas attributed it to the proximity of the zone to Mordor, on one side, and Dol Guldur, on the other. It was a surrounded area. _After all,_ he thought, _it's been only a few years since the Enemy fell._ Deep in his heart, though, a shadow was forming.  
  
By the end of that day, the duo was about to reach the southern edge of the great forest, and made camp in plain sight of the trees. In this new stage, they would head North until the Old Forest Road, where they could finally enter Eryn Lasgalen and proceed to King Thranduil's halls. But things were not meant to be that way...  
  
  
**TBC...  
  
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If you didn't like the 'Caradhras thingy' as it became known around here, please do join up with Helluin! He was against it and ordered me to make "the storm less stormy"... I did all I could, but he still didn't agree with it... oh well... Pray tell what you thought of it! ;)**


	3. Anórien

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Cysne's notes: This chapter may be shorter, but it plays a major role in the story. And I really mean it, you'll see at the end! I think it's also a good time to say to whatever Tolkien purists that may be out there reading, that this chapter has something of AU. Very slight, but it's there. Hope you enjoy it and thanks everyone for reading!  
  
Ainu Laire: Many thanks for the tip on the summary! Hopefully it's better now? The thing is that I have trouble in not giving away the whole plot and still saying just enough to make it suggestive!... The horror!! ;) Hantal!  
  
Antigone Q: You're refering to his advisors, right? Well, Elessar may have become proud and arrogant, but those guys aren't exactly 'models of virtue' either... ;) Thanks for reading!  
  
Star-Stallion: Is this soon enough? Lol! I'm so glad you are liking! Next chapter's already partially written, so, if all goes well, we shouldn't take long in putting it up! ;) Hantal  
  
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Chapter III: Anórien  
  
  
The patient and lone fisherman left his house that day, as he had been doing for the past years. The ground and the grass had a well-defined path carved across them due to the repetition of that ritual. Fishing rod over his shoulder and two large wrapped nets in his arms, this day started no differently, as the sun bathed the westernmost part of Anfalas.  
  
The beach extended itself to no end, making good justice to its name, Long Shore, and the poor fisherman noted that there was hardly any mist over the waters, for the distant and looming mountains in Belfalas could be glimpsed. "A fine day," he told himself as he entered the waters. He calmly unfolded the first one of his nets and fixed it firmly and deeply on the underwater sand. After the high-water had come, he would return to find it full of fish. After repeating the procedure on the second, he continued on his path.  
  
He was heading towards «his place», as it had become known in the region. A low ragged cliff that defied the sea's domain was where he always spent the day with his rod, waiting for some foolish fish to bite. He knew that it was useless, the majority of his income came from the nets spread upon the beach, but he relished the time to think and be by himself. "Stupid fish, they grow smarter every day," he would say to his mates.  
  
He was considering whether or not to pull out his pipe for a good smoke, when he thought he saw something looming in the distance. He strained his eyes to see if he could make out what it was exactly, but kept only the impression that it was a small fleet of black-sailed ships, before it disappeared as fast as it had come in the lingering mist.  
  
"The flag of Gondor is black, must have been that I saw, though I wonder what they were doing here. They never come this way." But then again, he never had cared much for the comings and goings of the political lay of the world. Minas Tirith, even though being the capital of his nation, was nothing but a name for him, as meaningless as it was distant. His business was with the fish and the trading at the nearest town.  
  
~*~  
  
The plains south of the Entwash delta presented themselves before the warrior party of Gondor with a welcomingly temperate climate. They had finally reached Anórien.  
  
The horses were tiring, and Elessar knew it. The cold may have stayed behind them, but the animals had been wearied by it. The mountains had been especially inclement and unforgiving on them, and they had no other choice but to stop if they didn't want to walk the horses to death. Therefore, it was with a heavy heart that Elessar gave out the order for the party to set camp for the day earlier than what he would have liked. That would only delay their arrival at the assailed village further.  
  
The night was uneventful and indeed advantageous for the horses, who recovered their might at record breaking time. Meanwhile, in Elessar's tent, the King had his map of Anrien stretched open upon an improvised table and held conference with Andril, concerning the final stage of their travel. The lad's time to guide them had finally come.  
  
Though being reluctantly led by the boy, incredibly nervous at the responsibility of being in charge of the party's course, once the sun had occupied its higher point in the sky the next day, King Elessar ordered the warriors to dismount and continue on foot. They had reached the end of their journey, for the razed town laid in sight. It was a disgraceful view, on all measures.  
  
The first thing they saw was black smoke rising up to stain the sky. Then, as they went up a small hill to get closer, the entirety of the situation hit them. The lad had indeed left the town before the orcs had had the time to complete destroying it, he probably wouldn't have lived through it if he hadn't, for calling it a small attack by a small group of orcs had certainly been the understatement of the decade.  
  
No building, tower, storage, house or farm, had been left standing. The stones were darkened by fires that still burnt, fires that had eaten through the wood structure supporting the walls and roof and had already consumed the poor contents of the houses. The foul smell was only aggravated by the one which had remained from the orcs' passage. Debris were everywhere, though nothing moved among the sad remnants of the collapsed village.  
  
Upon further approach, to the warriors revolt and Andril's absolute disgust, they found a mocking pile, darkly fuming, where the maimed bodies of all the peaceful villagers laid. _Poor souls. They never stood a chance_, Elessar thought, lowering his head slightly in respect for the fallen. Aloud, though, he said something quite different, pulling his second to the side.  
  
"Orcharion, I highly doubt it, but, in any case, I want you to stay here with some warriors and look for anyone who might have survived among the ruins. See what you can do to comfort the lad, Andril, as well."  
  
After the captain had nodded his assent, Elessar directed to the whole party. "We'll split into two groups! One will stay with Orcharion here in the village, and the other goes with me to look for the orcs' trail. Let's hunt down these foul creatures!"  
  
Andril made a move to join in with the second group, but Orcharion put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. "You stay with me, young one." The face that met the captain's was so full of rage that, for a second only, Orcharion was compelled to step away, but he had his orders and knew that the boy was hardly in any condition to meet the orcs. He would be killed in a flash. The two stayed with three more warriors.  
  
Elessar's group searched the village's perimeter, seeking the path the orcs had taken to leave, hoping it would lead them to the creatures' hideout. Being at least a week old, he expected the tracks to have faded by natural erosion, but, on the contrary, they were ridiculously easily found, for the region was relatively arid. Nothing but the rocks emerging from the grassy hills and the occasional tree and shrub here and there. It led North and Elessar followed it confidently.  
  
After merely an hour of walking, they stumbled upon that which they sought. A black stain in the landscape. There weren't many orcs on that site, perhaps two orcs per man, and those that there were, were slumberous, sleeping, sheltered from the sun. It was a perfect opportunity to strike, while they were all off guard and unprotected.  
  
It never crossed Elessar's mind to consider why the orcs would remain so close to the zone they'd attacked after such a long time had passed, for he would have found it strange and would have spent more time investigating the orc camp. But his confidence and pride had blinded him and he immediately ordered the attack without hesitation, the image of the smoking pile still too fresh and vivid in his memory. His men scattered and surrounded the enemies silently, it should increase their advantage, and only afterwards fell upon the orcs.  
  
War cries, both human and orcish, unheard for a long time, ran freely through the black camp, and some screams of pain were perceptible among them. Andril was drawn from its sheath once more, and it vibrated in Elessar's hands, blazing in the sun. A first orc's dark blood dripped unceremoniously down the sharp blade as its head was cleanly separated from the correspondent body, and so did a second one's mingle with it easily.  
  
Suddenly, a different cry joined the ones already heard and Elessar briefly risked looking round for the source. More orcs were joining to the fight, coming from behind the men. Realisation flooded him, as the King of Men found that he had been lured into a trap, and, worse of all, he had swollen it whole. His party was now stuck between two fronts.  
  
A distant corner in his mind took the time to notice how the orcs seemed to be concentrating their efforts on him, above any of the other warriors. _One would think they were expecting to find me here_, he subconsciously wondered.  
  
Meanwhile, the rest of the group was disposing of the offending orcs heading their way with some ease, but not free of trouble either. They may have been outnumbered, but the orcs were no match for the experienced Gondorian men.  
  
Eluding the path of a rusted blade aimed at his head at the last possible minute after his small reverie, Elessar rotated on his heels and managed to bury his sword up to the hilt in his third orc's back. A fourth, a fifth and a sixth came afterwards, but they too met their end at that fearsome blade's tip. Then a seventh approached from behind.  
  
Elessar saw him coming, but his arms had become sore with the action to which he had unaccustomed himself to and Andúril was too heavy to be removed from where it was still embedded in the last orc's torso fast enough. Elessar's position was hardly favourable, and, with a maniacal and rotten grin, the orc wasted no time in stabbing Elessar right in the middle of the chest.  
  
He gasped, both in surprise and sudden realisation that he would most likely die in those fields. Conjuring what was left of his strength, his hand made for his boot and the dagger within. He was able to slit the orc's throat and remove the twisted blade off from himself. But it was too late and the damage had already been done.  
  
His knees lost the necessary strength and solidity to hold his weight and his sight faltered. Visions of the still ongoing fight were the last thing he saw before ultimately closing his eyes. King Elessar, the man who had brought back hope to the world and had reunited Gondor, fell onto the ground and passed out of the knowledge of this world.  
  
  
**TBC...**


	4. Lineage

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Cysne's notes: Ok, remember Hîmac? Let's just say that he mysteriously and inexplicably changed his name to Orcharion, shall we? Lol! Thanks everyone for reading! Your words drive us on! (I really have to convince Helluin to write these notes one of these days...) ENJOY!!!! ;)  
  
Ainu Laire: Er... thanks for the review? *cringes* What can I say?... sorry? Not really. Trust me, Eldarion will make a great King! *evil grin* I'd probably feel the same way, though, if someone killed off my fave character... Here, have a handkerchief! ;)  
Spaces appear between letters? Like this: "lair¨e"? You're probably pressing space after the accent key, or pressing the accent key twice. It's supposed to be accent (once) and then immediately the letter. If that doesn't work, then maybe your computer doesn't support accents (come to think of it, I have seen warnings on some web sites concerning this), or has some stupid 'automatic correction' function activated... I've used computers that insisted on putting a tilde or a diaeresis over the "u" whenever I'd write "qua", others that transformed the letters into little rectangles, and one that kept turning the "î" into ""! So, I really don't know, could be lots of things! Let me know if any of this worked once you try, though! =)  
  
Star-Stallion: You think we're evil? I'll have to agree... lol! Don't know about updating, though. We've reached a delicate spot and really have to ponder for a while about what is to come after this... Anyway, tripled thanks to you for your continuous reviews! They're all wonderful!! =D  
  
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Chapter IV: Lineage  
  
  
The party rode hard into the White City, their faces as grave as their news. In their midst, a horse with no rider accompanied another which had two. It was still night and the smooth stone surface of the road and houses seemed to be just one solid curtain of grey.  
  
The city guards met them first, as would happen with any other visitor, but instead of the usual routine inquiry, expected to be made upon anyone who arrived thus in the middle of night, they ushered the group inside, sending someone in advance to wake the ruling steward.  
  
The few warriors who had remained from the original group did not dismount until they were down at the Houses of Healing.  
  
When Faramir entered the Healers' working chambers, he met barely a fifth of the group that had ridden out on that fine autumn morning nearly two weeks past, but, worse of all, he found one sinisterly still.  
  
His knees buckled and he could not contain the cry that escaped him. "What happened? I wish to know every detail!" He demanded of anyone that would hear. He spent the remainder of the night by Elessar's cold body, listening to Orcharion's report of the events of the Anórien fields. He did not sleep for that night, choosing instead to keep vigil over his King.  
  
He would have to gather the counsellors and tell them the news as soon as possible, a decision on Gondor's ruling needed to be taken, but not so soon that he would not have the chance to face Arwen first.  
  
Trusting the Healers and the warriors to keep the issue secret until after the council had been assembled, Faramir left the infirmary houses. His sombre mood and heavy steps hastened to find the unknowing widow of Gondor.  
  
Arwen was sitting peacefully on a balcony overlooking the city of Minas Tirith warming by the copper rays of the new sun. Her three little girls were playing by her feet with their dolls, occasionally nudging her for a story, and Eldarion stood, gracefully leaning against the handrail, supervising their games and trying to look mature.  
  
Arwen was proud of all her children, all were strong and fair, and she loved singing to them old songs of Imladris, remembering with nostalgia the days of the Elves.  
  
Eldarion, no matter how much he told himself it was childish or girlish, was always the one who listened to her stories more intently. It was so this time, until he saw Faramir approaching with urgency written across him. The Prince called his mother and she looked as well.  
  
"My lord Faramir, we have not had the pleasure of your company for breakfast. Is something the matter?" The Queen politely asked, delicately rising from where she was sitting as well.  
  
"My Lady," he bowed. "I'm afraid more than just something is the matter, I bring grievous news. I think it would be better if we were to speak at some other place?" The steward glanced significantly at the three girls on the floor and his demeanour frightened Arwen, who, in her heart, already knew what to expect.  
  
"Eldarion, look after your sisters while I talk with Faramir," she directed at her son, not really wanting or expecting to hear an answer.  
  
She let Faramir take her hand and lead her inside the palace to a deserted chamber. He asked a servant to bring tea, before entering, and then joined Arwen, who had already sat herself before a lit fireplace. Her poise was as regal as her real stature, but not entirely free of tension, and Faramir understood that, somehow, she knew.  
  
"It is said among men that elves have the gift of foresight. I never knew whether it was true or not." He said, breaking the ice.  
  
"Not entirely." He noted her eyes were starting to glisten and inwardly cringed at what he had to say would do to her.  
  
"My lady Arwen, I know no other way to say this, but..." She gently silenced him with a stare, and at the same time that tears started to shed she spoke in his stead.  
  
"Then speak not, for it is not needed. You came to tell me he is dead, haven't you?" Faramir couldn't help being shocked, even though that was hardly the last thing he expected to hear from her. He'd already noticed there was something about her. He intended to ask next how she had found out, but Arwen read that also and presented an explanation even before he spoke it.  
  
"Not all elves have the gift of foresight, but one thing that they all have in common is the strong bond they share with their betrothed. I knew it the moment I saw you."  
  
Faramir was at the edge of his seat in front or Arwen's, extending a comforting hand that she gladly took. She did not move, weeping only for a long time. The atmosphere in that room had become funereal, both dense and still, but quiet and soothing at the same time.  
  
The calm was interrupted when the servant knocked on the door and brought in the requested tea. Both Faramir and Arwen were startled, for they had forgotten that the rest of the world was still there.  
  
"And what now?..."  
  
**~*~  
**  
The counsellors grumpily entered the stone conference room which they were all so tired of seeing, upset at being called for a last minute meeting. One by one, they dropped to their usual seats around the table. Faramir and Eldarion were already there, waiting for them, and Arwen sat farther to the back in silence.  
  
"I do hope this doesn't take long. I have a wife and family waiting at home and I promised I'd go out with them this afternoon..." The last one to arrive said as he plopped down, causing his chair to scream at the dramatic increase of weight.  
  
"Honestly, Faramir, I'll have to agree with Herion. Is this really necessary?" The one to the immediate right of the fat man added.  
  
"I'm afraid so, my lords. A shadow has fallen upon our Realm, one that none of us could have expected." The steward began.  
  
"Speak up, and quit the rambling, lord Faramir!" Another counsellor interrupted him, leaning forward in his chair. Faramir closed his eyes, inwardly rolling them and begging the Valar for either patience or the chance to finish his sentences without any of the men before him criticising this or that. As far as he could tell, putting up with that committee was nothing less of a miracle.  
  
"Very well then," he glanced at Eldarion before continuing, his patience thin, as if looking for permission or perhaps apologising. "My lords, the King is dead, and if you think your meals more important than the matter at hand, then, by all means, take your leave for you are free to do so!"  
  
The ones who had spoken shrank back into their chairs, temporarily resigning to their obscurity. Those who were more cordial and had remained silent were visibly shaken with the news.  
  
"The party was attacked in Anórien," he continued. "The numbers of their foes were larger than anything we could have ever expected from here. In fact, the only reason why some of them made it back was because they had stayed behind upon reaching the village that had been assailed."  
  
A general sigh was heaved. While some of the men were feeling somewhat guilty that they'd allowed the King to go with such little protection and because only of his impetuous mood at the time, a few of them were still too shocked to think.  
  
"We have much to discuss. Succession must be decided." Faramir concluded.  
  
"But there is no question there. Prince Eldarion is the Crown-prince and sole heir to the throne." One of the ambassadors from Anfalas said, waving at the lad. The man was seldom seen in the capital, and that justified his favourable opinion of the Prince, for the others were very against it.  
  
"But, of course, in the meanwhile, Lord Faramir, as the Steward of Gondor, will hold the regency." Another man opined, not wanting to openly say he did not approve of the immediate crowning of the Prince.  
  
"I think that the Prince is ready to assume his father's place. He is-" Faramir tried to argue in favour of the Prince, but, as before, his word was cut off - the Valar had not attended his prayers.  
  
"Not yet of age and lacks the necessary discipline!... I have to disagree with the ambassador on this one," Herion provided as an alternate ending to what the steward was going to say. This time it was not Faramir's patience that faltered, Eldarion decided to take his defence into his own hands.  
  
"My Lords, I realise now that many of you still see me as the youth that would run into the meeting room, this very room, asking his father to play with him while serious affairs were discussed. Know this, you are very mistaken there. I have learnt well from my father, and my tutors, the ways of ruling. As for my years, I am merely months away from my turning of age. I would also appreciate it if you'd addressed to me personally when talking of me in my presence." Eldarion said in a row, stopping only for impact. After a brief pause, he almost sweetly added:  
  
"And I am certain that under the guidance of lord Faramir and of this _wise_ council, whatever lack by inexperience or short age I may have will promptly be corrected and perfected."  
  
Faramir risked a side-glance at the Prince. He was surprised with his sudden maturity, wise words and resolution, as much as, he was sure, the rest of the council.  
  
Whenever Elessar would take Eldarion to attend the meetings, one was more likely to find the Prince absolutely enthralled in counting the number of ants going in and out of the fringe beneath the door, than actually listening to the tedious talking.  
  
Herion, who had clearly self-appointed himself as the spokesman of the day, nodded slowly, eyes wide. He was evidently impressed with the Prince too.  
  
"The council has recognised Prince Eldarion's words and valour. Lord Faramir, we know where you stand. Let the rest of the assembly decide." Faramir took the hint and gladly guided both Eldarion and Arwen out of the room. After the door had closed behind him and he was sure they would not be heard, he addressed them.  
  
"Those political rats will stay there in conference for some time. You two should go rest, it's been a long day. I will send word to you as soon as they reach a decision. And... well done Eldarion!" He said with a smile.  
  
"Thank you, lord Faramir. You are most gracious." Arwen replied with a slight curtsy in her son's place, feeling more proud of him than ever, and walked down the corridor, taking him with her.  
  
**~*~  
**  
_My dearest lady Éowyn,  
  
I trust all goes well with you and Ithilien. Unfortunately, not all is the same here in the capital. I regret to inform you that tragedy has stricken Gondor, for our good King Elessar fell upon an attack of orcs in Anórien.  
  
Word reached the city today, and I spent the day in discussions with the Kingdom's_ _advisors and ambassadors, and all other sort of polite gentlemen that feel they have a say on the case... You know well how I fell that they lack the energy and will to govern properly.  
  
To my utter surprise, though, on this memorable day, the conclusions that left that room were astoundingly wise and considerate. Eldarion will become King, retaining only portion of his powers until he becomes officially of age. The council and myself shall hold keep of the excluded ones till then.  
  
However, neither could we expect their resolutions to be without fault. The population will only be informed in three days from now. By then, the preparations for Eldarion's crowning ceremony should be completed and that is in fact their intent. To say the King has passed on, and immediately present a new one.  
  
As you might imagine, Queen Arwen and the children were devastated, but are bearing it graciously. This whole event had an unforeseen effect on the Prince. Though he truly mourns the loss of his father, at the same time he seems to have turned his sorrow into strength and aged at least a decade, becoming incredibly responsible. If you would remember him correctly, one of his favourite diversions was to run around after his sisters and tease them to no end. Well, no more of that.  
  
I miss you terribly, my dearest Éowyn, but unfortunately I'm required to stay in Minas Tirith for some months more, at least until Eldarion's turning of age. And how could I possibly leave Queen Arwen by herself? I have a feeling I will be sorely needed by more than just the Prince.  
  
I promise to return to you as soon as the situation permits it.  
  
With all my heart,  
Faramir  
  
_**~*~  
**  
Legolas was feeling quite cheerful, for Gwilor and him were almost reaching the southwest edge of the forest. It was showing great signs of recovery. Some trees were abundant on the thick green leaves that gave the forest its name, while others were irreversibly dead. Sauron's corruption was seen there too, for his bastion of Dol Guldur was near.  
  
But the power of Lady Galadriel, although having disappeared with her departure, was still felt. The protection she had once placed upon Lórien had extended all the way there, and the trees that didn't die were growing once more.  
  
By the end of that day, the two travellers were by the same latitude of Dol Guldur, and thought they could just make out the fading light of a golden mist in the West bank of the Anduin. Legolas' heart immediately felt nostalgic, and, at the same time he promised himself to visit Lothlórien soon, he looked up and, in the distance, saw how three tall peaks tore through the high grey clouds. Memories of the darkness of Moria quickly erased his nostalgia of that old journey and he encamped to end another day.  
  
The next days were both uneventful and ungrateful, with the elves never-endlessly walking north, with the forest on their right looking progressively greener and the persisting silence that accompanied them since the Emyn Muil.  
  
At the end of the eighth day after departing Ithilien, the duo finally arrived at the Road that led to the depths of the forest. They decided not to go in that day, they were tired, physically and mentally, and the sun was almost setting behind the Misty Mountains. They camped near the edge of the outer trees, Legolas thinking to himself that he should see his father in two days or, in the worst case, the day after that.  
  
Next morning, they finally entered the forest but, as soon as he set his foot inside, Legolas immediately felt watched. It was as if thousands of unseen eyes were following every movement he made. Wielding his bow for the first time in days, he took an arrow from his quiver and readied to shoot the first thing that moved near him as he moved forwards. Gwilor had felt it too and did the same, but since after an hour had passed (or what seemed like one to them, for they could no longer see the sun) they saw nothing moving, they relaxed a bit, and allowed themselves to move faster.  
  
After a while, they noticed a small clearing opening to their left and went to look at the sky. It was a cloudless early November sky, and the Sun hadn't reached its top yet. Returning to the road, they proceeded with the journey until they were tired and stopped to eat. They sat by a great oak tree that sheltered them from the cold blowing breeze and ate serenely. After finishing their meal, the two friends sung a little to break the forest's silence that pierced into their ears.  
  
When Legolas got up to stretch his legs, however, he heard a loud roar and more than twenty orcs suddenly erupted from behind the trees, surrounding the two in less than five seconds. Taken by surprise, Gwilor, who had his weapons far from where he was, was quickly rendered unconscious and Legolas could hardly unsheathe his small knife when three orcs jumped on him; two of them died, throats slit, but the third managed to grip his arms on his back and called another orc, a smaller one, to bind his wrists. Still awed by the presence of the foul creatures in the forest that seemed so peaceful, he took a painful blow in his nape and the last thing he saw was the orcs breaking into laughter.  
  
**  
TBC...**


	5. Of Bloody Hobbits

**A/N: Ok, death would be a suitable word for us now, wouldn't you say? Just don't murder us, because after this chapter we're back to the same scheme... uncertain updates, and I mean UNCERTAIN... if anyone still remembers what this story's like (my congratulations, btw) and would like to know when we next update, leave your address on a review or send it by email and we'll tell you right away! SORRY FOR THE WAIT, PEOPLE, AND THANKS FOR READING THUS FAR!!!**

**Star-Stallion: thanks for the review, mellon, our dear and most faithful reader, and sorry for the loooooong wait... Legolas will be ok... I think... well, at least for now... eheh! **

**Ainu Laire: You think that getting beaten u is better than a quick death? Er... right... but don't think Legolas' completely off the hook either, we're still not sure whether to kill him off too or not... LOL, kidding! ;)**

**Niani: We refer "book fics" too... LotR is such a masterpiece that it certainly deserves to be taken into account! Now, as for Aragorn...**

**Szhismine: Hi!! You've been missing yourself... the wait for your fic... you're as bad as me... LOL! Faramir will have plenty of things in his hands real soon, and Legolas too... but I won't say a word more, there... **

**A person who loves LOTR: Thanks for reading!! Well, we thought that there are so many good fics with Aragorn out there that you wouldn't mind too much if we improvised a bit... doesn't make sense, does it? Oh well... oh, and saying that it was spanish was a major insult, but we forgive you! It's portuguese... To keep it short, the reason is we're kinda focused on other fandoms right now... ;p**

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**Chapter V: Of Bloody Hobbits**

The long-expected day had a glorious start. The sun couldn't fail to contribute and gold beautifully peeked behind the mountains to clear the steely sky that yet insisted on clinging to night's dark indigo. The whole atmosphere in the White City, even the very air, announced an important event for the people of Middle-Earth - the day in which a new King would rise to the throne of Men had come.

Eldarion woke up somewhat uneasy, he had barely managed to fall asleep with the excitement, and when he did, dark dreams had filled his mind, even though he could not recall precisely what they were about. More than once had they woken him in the midst of the dark, only to find the shadow of the richly adorned clothes lovingly set by his mother the previous day jeering at him by the moonlight. That helped in making him remember what was about to happen the following day, and it helped also in making his sleep even worse.

That morning began with a fierce fight with his breakfast, forcing it to get past his rebellious throat that insisted on remaining far too dry and clenched for eating. It was then that Faramir chose to enter his chamber in order to discuss the final preparations for the coronation. _(see note at the end)_

"Good morning, my lord. How do you feel?" He asked, in an overly bright tone that Eldarion made sure to remember to forbid as soon as he was King.

"Not very well, if you must know, but I guess I'll be fine", came the grim response. And the Prince looked like it, too: circles were forming under his eyes and he was somewhat pale. The Steward paid it no heed, he remembered well how Elessar had looked like in his coronation and knew that once the Prince left the palace and felt the wind and sun in his face, everything would change.

"Good! Now, I have some more advices to make, try to remember them all. It's very important you do, because they're part of Gondor's tradition!" Eldarion stilled the piece of bread that was _en route_ to his mouth, his face filled with disbelief. "When the crown arrives from Rath Dínen, I'll take it and place it in your head. There's also a sceptre that I'll hand over to you. But remember this, you will then turn to your subjects and, if possible, give them a smile. They will like it. But be sure not to flinch, or they'll think that you are perhaps too... impressible to be already a king. You'll have to give them an air of confidence, of someone they can trust their lives to, but not too authoritarian either... moderate and just would be good. «Wise beyond your years» would be a good motto too. Or simply wise will do. Got it?"

"I think so...", Eldarion answered, getting slightly more nervous and a little bit whiter, when he thought of all the things he had to do with a smile. But that was not all that Faramir had to say, he had plenty more "advices", and, as the talk developed, he grew steadily more and more unnerved. At some point, he felt he couldn't take it any longer and told his Steward that he'd understood and needed to be alone for some minutes, before the great ceremony.

Half an hour more passed, and the sun was now starting its rise, when queen Arwen came to his room, giving his outfit one final check, and spoke to him some encouraging words. He smiled back at her, relieved that her advices were not as complicated as Faramir's, but also because he knew that he would not be alone. There were people behind him giving him support. Thankful for that, he kissed his mother and sisters, and left the room for the gate of the tower of Ecthelion, where Faramir was giving some last-minute orders while awaiting him.

As soon as the guards opened the gate, a huge cry erupted. It seemed that all of Gondor's people had come to attend the ceremony, and even a few from the northern territories were there. King Éomer and a small committee from Rohan had come to greet and congratulate the young King. He encouragingly smiled to Eldarion when he walked past, on his way to the central throne.

"Surprised by the number of your subjects, my lord?" Faramir asked him from his side. Eldarion barely made out the words, his Steward was a terrible ventriloquist, but he did not answer. He was too overwhelmed to pay real attention to what was being said. "It seems that there are no representatives from the Shire, but I expect they will arrive still today."

Eldarion sat on the throne, set at the top of the stairs, miraculously according to Faramir's instructions that he'd forgotten about. Then the city bells heavily rang, announcing midday and, at the last ring, a parade came from Rath Dínen, the Silent Street, bringing the mithril crown from king Telcontar's grave wrapped in a wine-coloured velvet cloth. At this sight, Eldarion's face turned suddenly sad, ultimately realising that he'd be taking his father's place. He stood a bit straighter in the throne and his thoughts suddenly became a lot clearer, chest filling with pride.

As the traditionally dark-clothed guards of the tower approached the throne and Faramir took up the shining crown, time stilled and Eldarion slowly stood up, looking at the distant horizon, trying to avoid everybody's gaze. The Ephel Dúath rose still grimly behind the mighty Anduin.

Faramir came closer, kneeled and, at a prince's nod, came to his back, ceremoniously lifting the ancient crown and cleanly leaving it to rest atop Eldarion's head. At the same time, a servant handed the silvery sceptre to the new King of Men.

A large acclamation came from the audience, but not just cries of celebration and joy were there to be heard. To the far end of the courtyard, the people started making a path for someone to pass, a great turmoil accompanying the movement. Eldarion was looking at Faramir, wondering on what was happening, when a soft wind blew from the East and threw some of the White Tree's leaves to his feet.

Once the rustle got near the stair's edge, the guards intervened and spread the crowd, to reveal a group of four hobbits. All of them bore wounds, and all looked thoroughly exhausted. Everyone froze at the sight.

The hobbits halted at the last degree of the stairs and bowed to their King, faces almost surprised to have found and identified the crown-bearer so easily. Looking at the murmuring crowd, Faramir hastened to get the newcomers inside the palace, along with the King and all the counsellors he could unite at that time, quickly dispatching a messenger to summon the others. As the doors of the council chamber closed menacingly behind them, the King could not help but to give a scared look to the arriving party. This matter was undoubtedly grave and he hoped he would be able to stand up to it.

The remaining counsellors arrived, minutes later, looking concerned and demanding explanations. Faramir gave Eldarion a tiny push so he would take the initiative and ask the hobbits as to what had happened. The King stood, and with a determined voice, inquired the outsiders.

"What evil befell on you, that forced you to, hasten across the lands wounded like this? Are you the representatives from the Shire?" As he had finished his question, the doors slammed and another group, this time of elves, came inside, escorted by some guards. They also had a grim air, though their wounds looked less foul.

Now thoroughly concerned and confused, king Eldarion turned to them and asked them to join the meeting. Back to his place, he turned to the hobbits once again, waiting for their answer. The one who seemed older stood, grey curls clinging to his sweaty forehead, bowed and sat again before beginning his speech.

"I'm Podo Loamsdown, son of Grigory Loamsdown, and we here come from the East Farthing of the Shire. We've been attacked by orcs and big-folk that came from the West Farthing some weeks back."

"Big folk? You mean humans? Elves?" One of the counsellors wasted no time in interrupting the short fellow, looking sideways at one of the Elves that was still taking a seat.

"I mean humans," And at the man's offended expression he added, "but not like you. They were dark, dressed in red, with scary shields and spears."

"Haradrim..." Faramir slowly hissed to himself, looking to a spot in the air, as though remembering something that happened long ago. Eldarion looked at him and thought he knew exactly what was on the Steward's head.

"You said they came from the West Farthing. Are you sure? How could they have gotten there, they'd have to pass through Gondor!" The King asked, but it was not the hobbit who answered.

"I'm afraid the hobbit is correct, my Lord. My name is Agaroth and my group and I have just arrived from the Grey Havens. The Haradrim came from the sea and attacked Mithlond with a great force. We had no chance to defend the city, they drove us out from the sea-side. And their numbers... they were immense",a wise-looking elf answered.

"What happened to the rest of your folk?" Faramir asked, concerned.

"We would not know. Círdan sent us away just before the end of the battle we would lose, to warn the other peoples in their way and to ensure these tidings were brought to Minas Tirith. We were captured, though, before we arrived at the Shire, so the Periannath were taken by surprise. We managed to escape shortly after, but alas!, it was already too late. A scorched ruin of a once prosper and fair town was all we found." The elf added.

"And you, _halflings_?" The same counsellor, Herion, asked the old hobbit.

"We ran off to Bree in the beginning of it all, so we don't know for sure. But we don't think they made any captives, 'cause when we got to that city, it was already devastated and we found no one there..." The old hobbit replied, with a leer to the man he was very much starting to dislike.

"But that's terrible news!" Eldarion said, mournful. "I wonder why all these sudden attacks? Anórien, Mithlond, Bree and even the peaceful Shire! Who's behind all this? I didn't think the Haradrim would be able to pull off something like this after all the losses they've suffered in Sauron's time..."

He had to let his words sink in, nothing made sense and he wasn't sure he could believe in it. But then he turned to his most trusted counsellor, "What do you think of this, Faramir?"

Faramir didn't answer immediately, but remained thinking to himself for a while. "I think we should send out riders to find out more about the situation in Arnor, especially in Fornost. If all this is true, we will probably have need to send an army to defend it", he finally said. "Can you tell me how many were they?", he asked the elf.

"I can't say exactly, many of them never left their ships, but probably four thousand hands." The elf replied.

The counsellors looked at each other, utterly perplexed. "Two thousand men?!", Herion, who had leered at the elves in the beginning, audibly gasped. The elves did not reply, but stared at him with piercing eyes as silence settled in the stone chamber. And then...

Footsteps. The King was hurrying to the door and nearly yelled to one of the guards "Send the swiftest riders we have to Arnor and Fornost at once!" The guard nodded, alarmed by the seriousness of the King and ran off, heading towards the stables.

"Now we need to summon an army to face them as swiftly as we can, my Lord. It is obvious they will not back away unless challenged", Faramir added, looking to Eldarion, both proud and concerned. "The riders should take about two weeks to get there and return, so we should be prepared when they arrive."

"You take care of that, Faramir, please." Eldarion requested, still standing by the door nodding his agreement. The rest of the counsellors looked sideways at each other. "Do you have anything else to tell us? Any further information?" Eldarion asked the foreigners.

"No, my lord, we told you everything we knew", the elves replied and the hobbits shook their heads in denial.

"Fine. You must be tired from your journey", he finally said to the hobbits. "Mondrod! Take our small guests to the Healing Rooms", he said to another guard, who nodded and left the room with the little folk. "Geldor! You will escort our elven guests to the Healing Rooms as well. Give them what they ask", he said to yet another guard.

"We would like to see Lady Arwen, if it is possible." Another elf, who had been quiet throughout the entire meeting, suddenly asked.

"Of course. Take them to my mother." He added to Geldor. The guard nodded and guided the elves through a corridor on the right.

"Now, I believe that's all. Does anyone wish to add anything?" The King asked the council.

"Yes, as a matter of fact I do. What will you tell your people?... Your coronation was rather abruptly interrupted..." Herion remembered.

"Oh, right. What do you suggest?" The newly-crowned King asked.

"Well, our folk isn't very concerned with the affairs of the _halflings_, I doubt they'd ever even heard of them before the Great Battle, so I think we can just tell them that their far away country was attacked and they asked aid from us." Herion brilliantly answered in an incredible display of his superiority towards the King, which, however, Eldarion failed to notice.

"Yes, I suppose you're right", Eldarion said. "But I don't think we should refer the elves. We do not want our people too worried."

"Yes, my lord, I completely agree with you. It shall be done."

"Well, I believe that definitely settles it all then. Let us hope the situation to the North is not as dire and grim as it was painted here today." Eldarion concluded and dismissed the council.

The counsellors wasted no time in emptying the room, leaving Eldarion and Faramir alone to confer about all the events that had taken place.

"Very well, my King, you did very well indeed. Beyond any of my expectations, I should add, considering all this happened in your first day, well, minute!, as a King. Ill luck..." Faramir said, pensively.

"Thank you, Faramir. But I only managed this because you were there to support me and help me make the decisions..." Eldarion answered.

"I could not interfere in your decisions in front of them, and you know it, but I'm glad I was of help. Besides, why do you think this whole council exists? Managing such a Realm as yours is a tremendous responsibility... one too big for just one man's shoulders to bear", Faramir replied and it seemed to lift the young King's spirits. It was true, in his first day of rule, he had already been put through some of the worse things that could ever happen to his Realm, and so far, he'd done well. "However..."

"However?" He asked Faramir, who was staring at some far point on the tapestries that covered the floor. "What?"

"Didn't you notice the way Herion kept challenging you? First when you asked me for my opinion and then when he asked you about the disruption of the ceremony... perhaps the counsellors are beginning to regret their decision of making you King..."

"What?!" Eldarion cried out in exasperation. "The minute the crown falls on my head, four bloody hobbits land in front of me saying that the Haradrim are invading the Realm I should be protecting but of which I still hardly know, and those _counsellors_ expect _even more_ of me?! How-"

"Peace, my King, peace!" Faramir interrupted him with a smile.

"But what more could they possibly expect from me?!"

"Nothing more than what you already proved capable. You _are_ still young and somewhat inexperient, but you'll quickly learn, I'm sure. But there is something else, and you were actually quite lucky no one seemed to realise it, otherwise I'm sure Herion would be happy enough to shove it in your face as well..." Faramir cryptically stated.

"What are you talking about?" A calmer Eldarion inquired.

"The hobbits said they'd left the Shire for Bree _before_ the Haradrim attacked it, and yet, by the time they got to Bree it was already destroyed. I've never been to Bree or the Shire, but according to the maps I've studied here, Bree is to the _East_ of the Shire..."

"I don't follow, what does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, the elves said the Haradrim came by sea, from the _West_. So, either our maps are wrong, and I certainly do hope so because the Haradrim would never get to Bree without passing through the Shire first, or... there is someone else coming from the East – by land – that is also attacking us and helping the Haradrim... And worse of all, whoever they are, they are powerful enough to do so..."

**TBC...**

_

* * *

_

_(note) _An alternative dialog Helluin stumbled upon:

"Good morning, my lord. How do you feel?"

"Like I'm jumping from the Mindolluin knee, on fire."

Faramir's face turned suddenly very white, and the next moment, blood was spilled all over the room.

"Oops.", Faramir said, "Looks like I'm gonna be King after all." And he left the room, singing merrily. (ring's theme)


	6. At The Backstage

**A/N: One more chapter!! WOO-HOO!! This time we get to take a look at what's happening behind the big picture... may not be look too interesting, but it will lead to interesting things, I assure you, eheh! I'm thinking of making some changes to the previous chapters, clear up some things... don't know if they'll be MAJOR changes or not (even though I will try to keep them minimal) but once it's done I'll say. So far, the only thing that's been rewritten is the first chapter (just some touches, you don't have to reread it if you don't want to). That's all, I guess... pardon for my bad english, haven't practiced it in a while now... ;p**

**Mysterious Jedi: WOW!!! Really think so? Thanks, very flattered!! Hope you continue to enjoy! **

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**Chapter VI: At The Backstage**

After sending one of his trusted soldiers on his way to taking care of remedying as much as possible the abrupt ending that had been put to the crowning ceremony, Faramir retreated to his personal chambers. Eldarion wouldn't be needing him for now and he had a crazy idea forming in his head. One his heart desperately hoped was wrong.

----------------

Outside the city's seventh wall, something quite similar took place. Herion, the counsellor, was about to start pulling out his cards to play them in parallel to Faramir. He disliked the oposition the other was putting up and decided that he would need to gain the majority of the table of counsellors, if he was to override the influence the captain had over the King. His list of possible means to achieving it wasn't at all short, and already was a plan forming in his mind.

He walked through the market, watching from afar how one of his well-familiar colleages had stopped for some purchases. He was quickly by his side, talking in hushed tones.

"Hîmac..." The other looked back, almost startled. Whatever it was that what was going through Herion's mind right now, he thought he didn't like it from the look on his eyes. He imagined he knew enough of how persuading the fat counsellor could be, to be able to evade it, and was determined to refuse to take part of his plots.

"Before you say anything, Herion, let me tell you this. I will not partake on whatever tricks you're trying to pull on me or anyone this time!" He immediately defended himself.

"Who said anything about tricks?" Judging by Hîmac's stance, Herion quickly realised this part of the play was useless. Perhaps he had done this too many times for the other to start learning how to counter it? The fat counsellor skipped the offended look and went straight ahead. No matter how ethically correct Hîmac bragged himself of being, Herion knew his mind was weakly built, too easily swayed once one spoke the right words.

"Very well, but at least give me a chance and hear me out..." The other would certainly want to hear every thing everyone had to say on the matter and that would be his downfall. He was the kind of man that believed that through greater knowledge came greater justice. The fool. As Hîmac nodded, Herion recognised he'd succeeded and began to talk.

Some time later, he was leaving Hîmac by his home door and moved towards his next target: the Embassy of Anfalas. Earning the trust of a foreigner, someone who lived outside of Minas Tirith, would be a good psychological factor for others to join up with him. And his political mind shouted at his ears that he needed as many elements of that table on his side as possible.

He had the ethically correct man on his hand – a few would consequently follow him for that – and pretty soon, he'd have the foreigner too.

"Lord Herion, right? Forgive me for not remembering your name correctly, it's something I've always been terrible at... What brings you here?" The Ambassador excused himself as they shook hands in greeting.

"Yes... Herion." He took the seat the other was silently offering him from across the desk. "I know the palace meeting has long finished, but there's an ill feeling that lingers in my mind and refuses to leave. I couldn't wait until the next time and decided to come speak to someone about it. I hope you don't mind."

Finishing graciously, he almost didn't need to wait for the other's reply to know the exact words he would say. Herion had a lot of experience, he'd always had a special ability for knowing how to read other people's faces and with time had also come to sharpen the fine art of saying the right things at the right timing to convince them of something. Needless to say, he did his job formidably well. He'd lived comfortably through the time of the Stewards, he'd live through the Age of Kings just the same.

"Why, certainly, it's no bother at all! Let's hear it. Is it about the elves?" For once, Herion found he had slightly misjudged someone... Why would the other have a special interest in the elves?... then again, maybe he wasn't wrong at all.

"As a matter of fact... yes, in a way. Follow my line of though: first, we have an attack on Anórien, in which our King tragically dies. Then, strikes on the North on the land of the Hobbits and the elven harbours. And third, let's not forget that Gondor is just recoverying from playing set to the War of the Ring, which is very fresh in the memories of many!"

The Ambassador was well aware of all the things the other had said, and eyed him almost suspiciously. "That is no news you bring me, where are you trying to get to? The point is...?"

"The point is, I fear our King may be being pushed into entering a war that has nothing to do with us." The Ambassador had been listening intently until then, but after this, he relaxed back into his chair with a strange face.

"What do you mean, «nothing to do with us»? As you said, king Elessar fell to an ambush, and there's nothing to indicate that those orcs haven't got anything to do with the events up North!"

"But nothing proves it, either..." He hastily put in. "The Great War is still recent, there are many dark contingents scattered through the land, they might not even know that their master is already gone."

"You speak true, there are. But isn't it Gondor's duty to assure the lands are safe and clear of those foes?" The fat counsellor shifted in his seat, he hated when others put up a fight. He replied more brusquely this time.

"Gondor's duty is to watch over itself and those who inhabit in it! Not of sheding blood over matters that do not concern it."

"But they do! They concern us all!"

"Oh, cut it. Don't tell me you really believe in those fairy-tales?" He had had enough of talking to idealists with Hîmac for one day. And there was nothing that annoyed him more than an idealist.

"Yes, I do. And besides, even admitting that Anórien has nothing to do with the Shire and that this doesn't directly affect Gondor in any way, even in that case, it falls upon us to help the needed."

"To help the... is your memory short or what?!" Making good use of the best disbelieving tone he had, Herion leaned in closer, in order for his weight to help him firmly state his point. He wished he didn't have to face so many weak-minded idealists, but at the same time was thankful for it. It only made his task easier. He continued venomenously. "Or have you forgotten already how Gondor stood alone at the doors of the Unnamed Evil itself? Who was there for us then? Which noble people came to help us?!"

"Every people had something to worry about then. Evil was everywhere, we weren't the only ones to suffer..."

"Is that so?... What about the elves, the very same that rest now within our walls? I don't remember ever seeing an elf fighting along our side, from the Grey Havens or any other of those places where they continuously hide from the world! Why should we expose ourselves for them now?"

"Because-"

"That's exactly what was troubling me, that kind of reaction," he interrupted at once. He didn't want to give the Ambassador too much time to process everything he was saying. "The sense of being at war is so fresh in everyone's minds, that it seems people have forgotten what it means, what it's like, to be at peace. And considering his influence over the King, lord Faramir would be the most perilous of them. He wouldn't hesitate to drive this country back into war... unless someone stops it."

"I don't think lord Faramir would be that irrational-"

"Think again, my lord. Didn't you see how he guided the King earlier at the meeting? Lord Eldarion said or did nothing before consulting with him first, you surely must have seen it!"

"Yes, I did. But that was an exceptional circumstance, it was a very uncomfortable position for-"

"And remember, lord Faramir lost both brother and father to war, and his name was very nearly added to the list of casualties. Trust me, those memories are bound to be fresh enough on his mind. He will wage war."

The Ambassador stared aprehensively at the man's flushed face before him. He didn't agree much with Herion's point of view, but what if he was right and somehow they would be compelled to enter into a needless war?

----------------

Likewise, Faramir was also coming to his own conclusions, as confusing as they may be. When he'd started looking at the maps earlier that afternoon, he'd thought there were "a few" holes in his conjecture. Well, it was making less and less sense the more he pondered about it.

The ambush on Anórien. It was clearly an ambush, the orcs were expecting the company, but Gondorian soldiers were well trained and their approach would never have been noticed. Then how?

They could have been warned, but once again, Gondorian troops just weren't any kind of troops or men. If they'd been watched, they would have realised it. And the only alternative left he could see... was a traitor among the party.

Not possible.

But that wasn't all... if there had been a traitor, why would the orcs go through so much trouble – yes, indeed it had to have been trouble, organisation and orc were two concepts that just didn't match – just to slay some soldiers. They had to know that the King would be riding along. But there was only the slimmest of chances of that happening, and the only people who knew, apart the soldiers, were... the counsellors.

It didn't make sense.

And could it be that Anórien was somehow related to the Shire? Could it be that the eastern force that had razed Bree were in fact these southern orcs? The timings didn't fit. According to his calculations, these attacks had to have happened in fact before the one in Anórien. Unless somehow, the hobbits had developped wings or something.

Nothing fit together. But he kept on studying the maps he'd brought from the library, hoping to find something, anything, that could guide him.

As for his crazy idea, nothing indicated it could ever be true. He'd have to somewhat force the pieces if he were to complete the puzzle that way... perhaps it was time he had another conversation with the elves. This time, without anyone else to disturb it.

**  
TBC...**


	7. Under New Light

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**A/N: Guess no one's reading... LOL, probably given up because of the huge time it takes to update, died of heartbreak, or just has no interess. Oh well, if you happen to exist, THANK you, silent readers, eheh! Anyway, hearts up Aragorn-fans: a little light for you in this chapter! It's about as much as I can give you for now! And bear with me a little longer action-lovers, the time for councils and talking (a.k.a. "lame attempt at suspense") will soon be over! Real action draws ever nearer!! Pardon again for the bad english, I've got no beta, unless you want to count that stupid MS Word spellcheck that insists that Faramir's name is Farmer... useful, huh? x.x'**

**lindahoyland: I realise there's a 9/10 chance you won't ever read this, but I insist on answering your review! I really apreciated it, even more for it's sincerity! I guess I'd feel the same way, eheh... So, thanks mellon! ;)**

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**Chapter VII: Under New Light**

Eldarion was sleeping peacefully the next morn, content under the warm sheets, with a breeze slipping in through the slightly parted windows to caress his face and ruffle his ebony hair. The Sun was high, but he didn't know that yet.

His door slowly creaked open and in stepped his mother. Arwen, ever-gracious, ever-delicate, watched over her grown up son's quiet sleep and sat down beside him on the bed without disturbing. So many things had happened in such short a time, and so much had drastically changed. Her son being not the least of those... she was more proud of him than ever. Proud of how much he'd grown to meet what others expected of him, proud of how well he was dealing the responsibility that had fallen over his shoulders.

She had felt her heart would break beyond mending when she'd seen Faramir those days ago. Her love was her life, she'd given up so much to be with him, and even though her father had always warned her that a day like this would come, she'd always hoped that somehow the Valar would be kind enough to not let it ever come.

But now it had come and he was gone... what was there left for her in this world? Elves were extremely sensitive, and once they pledged their love to someone it was eternal and not to be changed by anything. To keep on living without Aragorn... a sob involuntarily escaped her lips.

"Naneth?..."Eldarion woke to find his mother's shaking frame before him, hiding her face in her hands. He sat up and held her at once, rubbing her back to try to pass on some sort of comfort, but she kept on crying on his shoulder. "Mother, hush... please don't cry..."

He was at loss as to what to say or what else to do and desperately hoped his presence would already mean something. Of course he knew perfectly what this was about, no need to put it in words, but he couldn't help feeling surprised seeing his dear mother go down like that. He realised that no matter how much he missed his father – and the last nights he'd spent awake staring at the ceiling were proof of it – his mother probably missed him even further. He was human, but also half-elven, and now berated himself for not thinking sooner on how difficult these days must have been for her. He hadn't even considered that and felt somewhat guilty for relying on her so much and not giving some of it back.

"Mother, please... everything's going to be fine... we'll be fine..." He held her shoulders and leaned back to stare directly into her eyes. "We'll get through this... but we have to be strong in the meanwhile, alright? You have to be strong..."

Her eyes were swollen red and showed nothing but tiredness in that face he loved. Eldarion was so used to seeing her as beautiful and full of vitality, that the sight shook him to the core of his being.

"Oh... how long has it been since you last slept or even rested, mother?" It was so uncharacteristical of her that it felt like looking at someone else, and it disturbed him beyond reason.

"I'm... I'm sorry, my son... I didn't mean for you to..." Arwen was going to apologyse for breaking down like that in front of him but their eyes met and she found that she didn't have to. She held out a hand to touch his face and carefully traced the contours of her son's eyes. Eldarion thought it was better to let her do whatever it was she intended, also because he had no idea of what to do himself.

She gently brushed his knitted brows apart, willing him to put on a more relaxed expression, and felt the firm cheekbones beneath the soft skin, so like hers. Finally, she cupped his face with both hands and pulled him closer, resting her forehead in his and looking at her son straight in the eye. Eldarion's eyes were so much like his that for a moment... for the most fleeting moment... she thought she saw her love look back at her from those depths. Through their son, he lived. Eldarion just saw her eyes softly lighting. "Yes, we are..."

He didn't even consider asking what she meant with that, so happy was he that her moods had lifted. He could feel her lithe body relaxing and saw her close her eyes. It seemed sleep had finally caught up with her and he gently laid her down on the bed as best as he could without disturbing her, fetching a blanket to cover her.

Hastily putting on some more appropriate clothes to go outside, he halted on the doorstep and glanced back at the fragile form on the bed. He made an oath to himself to put his griefs behind him and look more after his mother. He'd never seen her so vulnerable and it hurt him... the oath reassured him, and renewed strength surged through him. Eldarion didn't understand where it came from, it didn't seem to belong to him or even to the world he knew, but at the same time could be more than familiar. And he realised he did know what Arwen had meant before falling into the world of dreams.

They were going to be all right.

**----------------**

It was later than he thought and he hoped he hadn't missed anything important while he slept. New things were happening all the time at hallucinating speed, and he was feeling utterly lost.

There was so much for him to learn, a whole routine. For instance, where was he supposed to be when there weren't any meetings with the councellors? Was he even supposed to be anywhere? Who were the people he could rely on, apart from Faramir? And come to think of it, what were his immediate duties? Nothing had been settled about the attacks on the last meeting but surely he should be pondering over the situation, perhaps summoning everyone for a new reunion?

Yes, he was lost. And there were so many things in his mind, he felt like he was carrying a tray full of precariously pilled items ready to fall at any time. And the worse was the acute knowledge that he couldn't possibly dismiss or forget about any of those things. Keeping up with all of them was the hardest to do, but now he guessed the most urgent was to find the place where he could deal with them.

And so it was that he wandered more or less aimlessly through the vast halls of the palace, feeling more and more the need to curse the obstacle of such grandure into oblivion.

He was so focused on his thoughts that didn't even hear the steps coming from the corridor in front of him. He did get to have a close touch with them, however, as he collided head-on with Faramir rounding the corner.

"Terribly sorry!" Both blurted out at the same time. Then they looked at one another and realised who it was.

"Faramir..." Eldarion begun, relieved to find him just when he was needing some guidance. He was about to ask him if there was anything he needed to do, but the Steward anticipated him, held his arm and pushed him somewhere.

"Eldarion! I've spent the whole morning out looking for you! Where have you been?" He opened his mouth to reply, but Faramir had found a mark and dragged him towards a door. "Here! We need to talk!"

They got inside the deserted room and Faramir closed the doors shut behind him, motioning towards the desk and chairs on the other side of the room that seemed to be an empty study. Once both were seated, Faramir produced a folded map from under his tunic and laid it out on the table surface.

"I've been doing some research and some thinking since yesterday. I don't like this thing one bit, nothing adds up and I don't like to not know what to expect. I've come to some conclusions of sorts but nothing definite..." He started explaining, and Eldarion nodded looking at the scribbled map.

That Faramir had been busy was beyond doubt, several routes were signaled in various colours and even more hid behind those, erased. The young King thought he recognised some and their meaning: the road that connected the Shire to Gondor, the one from Minas Tirith to Anórien... "What's all this? And what are these numbers at the side?"

"Yes, I'll get to that in a minute..." The Steward was serching through the drawer on the desk and finally found what he sought. He placed another paper, blank, on top of the map and nervously fingered a pencil. "Now, let me explain. So far we've gotten word of three attacks. One, Anórien. And the other two, on the Shire and the Grey Havens." As he spoke, he was signaling the events on the paper.

"Now, the first thing I thought about was whether or not these three or rather two, since the Shire and the Havens can count as one, strikes were somehow connected. Do you emember when I said that there must have been another force at game in the North? I wondered if it could have been the same group of orcs from Anórien." The Steward pointed at a red line, connecting the village to Bree. Eldarion noted how long it was.

"You think? But how would they have the time to get from one place to the other? Even if the Hobbits were slow to travel..." Faramir smiled.

"My thoughts exactly! And what would possibly cause a large group of orcs as this one to make such a long journey? Especially one to the Shire, there are no repported sightings of orcs for quite some leagues round so they must have come from somewhere not that close! And orcs as they are now, without a leader, would never travel for such a long distance without an exceptional cause..." he pointed out.

"Then you think that Anórien and the North have nothing to do with each other?"

"I didn't say that, though it is what it would seem. There's nothing to indicate that it is otherwise." Eldarion acknowledged, somewhat relieved. It felt like one less thing to worry about. "Except that... those orcs were pretty organised, wouldn't you say? It almost seemed they were expecting to find the King there..."

Eldarion was shocked. "You mean to say that it was intentional?"

"I mean nothing with certainty. It's highly unlikely, that's not the behaviour one would expect from orcs, but nonetheless it is something we cannot discard just like that... I have a feeling there may be more to this than what we can or are being allowed to see."

Faramir was filling the young King with dread. Eldarion found himself fearing the lands South of the Entwash, but tried to catch himself before it got too far.

"What do you have in mind?..." The Steward lowered his gaze, carefully picking his next words.

"If indeed there's more to this, then the orcs would have to know that the King would be going out himself... and that is not something very likely of happening on its own..." Eldarion realised where the other was trying to get.

"A traitor...?"

"It's the only explanation I can find. But it would only make sense if..." The youth cut him off.

"But who would do such a thing? Who had both the position and the motives to do that?... Faramir, who knew exactly that my father was going?" Eldarion became very serious all of the sudden, not exalted or surprised, just dead-serious. Faramir answered him slowly.

"Apart from your family, only myself, the table of counsellors and the soldiers who accompanied him North. Those last were informed only the day prior to the departure, after the decision was made, so I don't think there's any chance of this possible traitor being among them. Besides, their loyalty is unquestionable."

"But that leaves only the counsellors! Surely not..."

"Which is the reason why I wanted to see you here in private, before we summon them. I personally don't like them, but I don't think they'd do such a thing either. They may have many faults, but surely not this one."

"But you still preferred seeing me alone first..."

"Just being cautious. The actual probability of any of these things being true is... almost ridiculous. I think that for now we can leave Anórien and focus on the North. We could ask King Éomer of Rohan for help to deal with that."

Eldarion hesitated before agreeing. The matter concerned Gondor, but Rohan was a close ally, and King Éomer was a true friend. In the end he said yes, but would insist that they informed the Rohirrim of the possible dangers of that threat. "All right... and about the North, did you find anything?"

"I'm afraid not. I went to talk to the Elves again, hoping they could tell me something more, something they could have forgotten before, perhaps. But they were with your mother and I didn't have the chance to press them much. Though, they did say there was nothing more they could add."

"What about the Hobbits? Did you see them?"

"No, but I don't think they know anything else either. They're a quiet people, and being rushed from Shire to Bree to Gondor like that I don't think they'd retain much more information other than what they already told us."

"Right. What do you think our next step should be? Send our army North as soon as possible or perhaps something else?"

"The decision to make war must be approved by the table of counsellors... but as far as my personal opinion goes, I'd say it is something we cannot run away from." The Steward's face was grim, he had hoped to never have to go through that ever again. Why was it that something as simple as peace was so difficult?

"I see... and what's all this you scribbled here on the map?" Faramir smiled again, and Eldarion knew it wasn't nearly as important as the other things he had to say.

"Well, like I said... I did some research yesterday and... I was trying to find out who those Eastern attackers were, what could their homeland be. Those numbers are counts of days and distances, etc." Eldarion was gawking at the amount of little calculations.

"Faramir, have you slept today?" The Steward barked a laugh, then answered, rubbing him eyes at the same time.

"No, not really..."

"Could it be that I'm the only one on the palace that's actually been sleeping lately? Go on Faramir... when you're feeling more rested, we'll gather the council. Again..." The Steward heavily sighed.

"And I just can't wait to face Herion..."

**TBC...**

**Review?... Pretty please? ;p**


	8. Lasgalen's Choice

**A/N: Just so there aren't any confusions later on, I'm stating this here very plainly – the final part of this chapter, the one concerning Lasgalen, takes place months before everything that has happened so far since chapter 1. If you will, think of it like this, Aragorn is still alive and healthy then, LOL. And to all of those who don't remember or don't know, Lasgalen is the one and the same as Mirkwood and Esgaroth is the same thing as Laketown. There, that's all... «Thank you»s to you readers!! Pardon for the bad english once again... u.u**

**Lindele: Thank you!!! Didn't understand the "strange" part but it's cool... I guess... LOL! Hope you keep enjoying! ;)**

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**Chapter VIII: Lasgalen's Choice**

"I beg your pardon, my King, but I must object!!" One of the counselors stood up from his chair in a bolt of anger, face flustered and ready to burst. "Not only is it folly to seek out unprovoked war, but also to leave the White City thus, without an army to guard it!! The mere suggestion is ridiculous!!"

Around the table, others were exchanging glances between them, assaulted by doubt but letting out only a display of steely resolution. At the beginning of the reunion, which had promised to be the last one before real measures were taken, Eldarion had presented the plan he and Faramir had devised. It was clear by now that it wouldn't be easy to convince the rest of the table.

Faramir shared his thoughts, as he was surprised with the resistance the counselors were presenting. He'd expected it from Herion, that one would never agree to the least of things that involved the Steward, but to see the whole table united against it was unexpected.

Herion sat pleased and in silence, doing his best to keep his grin of satisfaction as small as possible to avoid suspicions from behalf of the King and Steward. He was drinking and relishing in every little expression that crossed Faramir's face. Today's meeting was indeed proving to be very satisfactory, his homework the day before had been more efficient than he'd ever expected. Every single counselor in the room produced naught but replicas of the words he had placed in their mouths.

At one point, Faramir had even requested that Andril be brought so that the Council may question him. He hoped it would make them see things the same way he did, however, no matter how well the lad responded and how much it supported the Steward's theory, the others' minds were set and nothing would change them.

Presently, silence reigned for a minute in the stone chamber, before Herion slowly put in his word. "I agree to what all of my colleagues have said so far. Every one of us has already put his thoughts on the table, I think, so I now ask you, my King – what is your final say?"

Eldarion hesitantly glanced at his Steward, dreading the decision he would have to make. Even if he firmly believed what he and Faramir had said, which he did, to go against the great majority of the table would be more than foolish. Although there was no written law about it, it might as well be put down in paper, for it was something that had always been present in councils before. Without cohesion on the inside, what chance did they have against the outside? All eyes were set on the newly appointed King, Andril's included, when he sighed and spoke.

"My position stands. I feel the situation is more dire than what you wish to perceive with your closed minds. We will ascertain what exactly is going on in the North. And I would like you, Andril, if you feel capable, to travel to Rohan as a messenger and give King Éomer a report of all the news. I'm sure he'll have questions for you. The council is over."

Eldarion silently left the room, closely followed by Faramir. There were several different reactions for one to see among those still seated. Most were plainly surprised, as was the case with Andril, who stared open-eyed at the door through which the King had disappeared with a small smile forming on his lips.

On the other hand, Herion, after the initial shock had dissipated, had his insides boiling in anger. How dared that little brat go against his plans?! But it wasn't over yet... far from it.

**----------------**

_(Months earlier...)_

The sun's first golden rays were firstly filtered by the leaves, before gently spilling through the large windows and lazily stretching on the polished stone of the halls of Thranduil, the Elven King, giving them life with the growing warmth. The birds chirped quietly, as Arien's heralds in the beginning of another temperate summer's day.

Those were the only sounds to be heard as of yet, for activity had still not begun in those halls. Very soon, though, one with sharp senses could count on hearing the rustling of robes or the opening and closing of doors, as the palace servants would begin to rouse and start on their early chores.

Outside, the air remained fresh from the night, and a slight tinge of dew could still be breathed. Peace reigned and the guards posted on the night shift stretched their arms and legs, preparing to go get some well-earned sleep. The guarding warriors' surveillance wasn't really necessary, but old habits were hard to let go, especially when they had been fundamental for survival throughout two ages of the world.

Previously infested with all sort of fell being that could be conceived, from plain Spider to fiery Nazgûl, it had been long since the last time that the wood-elves' sharp weapons had had any real use. Numerous scout parties that would have roamed through great stretches of land at the same time in the old days, were now a rare sight and the master healer found himself more occupied with preparing infusions for curing headaches, than concocting ointments against orc poison.

Althan turned from his position gazing at the bedroom window to a soft knock on the door. As expected, a youthful looking maiden unceremoniously entered without saying a word, intending to awake him. Finding that part needless to perform, almost with disappointment as Althan noticed, she skipped ahead to preparing the clothes for the special day. Althan didn't mind her quiet 'intrusion', but he did a doubletake when he saw his best robes laid on the bed. Then he remembered why it was so.

A messenger had been sent some time past with word from the Lord of an unknown and uncharted eastern town of men. They were friends with the men from Laketown and, following their lead, wished to form an economic alliance with the wood-elves. Thranduil had sent the man back with his own message, bidding the Lord of that land to come to Lasgalen in order to better bargain the terms, for that deal might interest the elves. Meanwhile, the chief of Esgaroth had also invited himself to partake on the dealings and had offered to host the meeting.

Thranduil had chosen the lord Althan to be his representative and lead the group of elves that would go to Esgaroth. The Sylvan elf-lord had been a friend of the King from even before the battle that ended the Second Age. Thranduil knew his age and experience had made him unusually bitter and critic for one of the First Born, but also wise and loyal to his home.

Of course Thranduil had demanded that the group of elves looked their best to impress the foreign men, but Althan couldn't help to be puzzled as to how he would keep the silver and white cloth impeccably clean when he would be riding.

Days later, Althan found himself thinking back to that morning as he watched his clothes dry on the sun. The meeting with the men had already been held, and he used his spare time before dinner to think through all the information he'd gathered.

They seemed friendly enough, too friendly and too helpful to be more accurate. They seemed to offer a solution to every trouble that Lasgalen faced, plus a great number of further advantages. In exchange, they asked very little, only the possibility to visit the Elves' Kingdom and possibly instruct some of their youths with elven knowledge.

In all ways, it was a deal to be taken without second thought, but Althan had a strange feeling. Firstly, he'd discovered more or less by accident that the men of Esgaroth had been lying when they'd said they knew this distant folk. What in fact they wanted was to have a share in whatever trading deal was produced here. That had angered Althan, and he was sure he'd scared the Lord of Laketown enough into having it not repeat itself for the next thousand years.

Second, he found it odd that a distant people like this suddenly came out of nowhere with all these well-defined plans to discuss with the wood-elves, almost as if they knew what their situation was and their exact current needs. He hoped the Laketown men hadn't been stupid enough to commit two mistakes at once, but the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed.

The alliance between Lasgalen and Esgaroth was old, and it would have never crossed through any wood-elf's mind that these men would do anything against them. Althan's only choice was to trust their judgement of these foreigners and since he had nothing apart from a faint feeling against them, on that choice he would rely. Later that day, during their final negotiations at dinner, he would say that Lasgalen and King Thranduil Oropherion had decided to accept the deal offered to them.

**TBC...**


	9. The Downfall of the Woodelves

**A/N: Bear in mind, this chapter's plotline is still in the 'past'!! Another thing: don't know when the next update will be – rough times at school – but it will come eventually! If you want to be notified when that is, apart from the normal author alerts, you know the scheme! ;p Thanks to everyone who's reading, but especially to those who take the time to leave a review to let us know our work's appreciated!! Anything you can possibly have to say is great to hear!! _(wipes sweat and lays dictionary aside)_ **

**Lindele: Woo-hoo!!! So very glad you're liking, mellon... Hantal!!**

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**Chapter IX: The Downfall Of The Wood-elves**

The party of elves in charge of the trade conversations in Esgaroth was finally returning home after a week of absence with new company. During that time, the elven lord Althan had been granted powers to perform an alliance with the foreigners by Thranduil, should it be deemed a wise choice, and he had made use of them in the end.

The dread Althan had felt towards these men had dissipated as he got to know more about them and their ways. They came from a land so far away, that he supposed that that feeling surely resulted from an initial clash between the two different cultures, worsened by the fact that they belonged to two distinct races altogether. But now, after several nights talking with each of them, he had gained trust enough to the point of taking them along and show them their home in the forest.

The wood-elves were very much accostumed to having business with other races. Their long alliance to Esgaroth and proximity to the Lonely Mountain was proof enough of it, and so it didn't take long for them to get caught up in friendly talking or story-telling with the men as they rode towards Thranduil's Halls.

These men hailed from a far land southeast of where they were, a land close to the mountains bordering the inner sea of Rhûn. According to them, those grounds were exceptionally fertile and it was that exceedent in producion that had led them to seek out the elves in the first place. From what they'd let out so far, they were closed people and hardly talked about anything that wasn't directly requested of them, typical mountain folk both in aspect and mind, very unlike the comunicative Sylvans who had a story or a song for every occasion. The Rhûnians hadn't let out much about themselves but it had been enough to gain the approval and trust of Althan.

The elf-lord rode next to Hlothran, the leader of the group of about ten men that accompanied them. He was the one to whom Althan had spoken the most and the one who had suggested that they visited Lasgalen in the first place. They had been travelling in casual silence thus far, when Hlothran chose to break it for a question. "Stories about the skill of your people have reached even my land. Is it true what they say, that you can shoot a bird's eye in the dark?"

It wasn't hard for the lord to answer after letting out a small laugh, the flattering tone in the question didn't contribute much otherwise anyway. "I suppose there's something of truth in that legend, but one thing is certain... our archers are the finest in all of Ennor!"

"We even have a saying: «If judge you must, do it with the eyes of a wood-elf»."

"Is that so? Well, I guess it comes from the fact that every wood-elf has some basic training, and it is in the archers that lies the strength of our army." Pride filled his voice and loosened his tongue, and Hlothran did not waste the opportunity that was presenting itself to keep asking more about the Woodland realm.

"Your army? But how can they shoot through the dense forest around? There has to be more to your army than that, right?"

"In a way, yes, but that's also where our strength lies. We have, or rather had in the old days, patrols on several locations to control every inch of the ground. Basically, nothing would go in or out without us knowing."

"You mean you have the entire forest under watch?" He asked, awed at the revelation. The elves' organisation must be quite something to behold.

"Not all, evidently! Lasgalen is enourmous, we merely occupy a small part of it. We watch our domain and the lands close to the borders. But that was only in the old days, when threats could be found anywhere you looked in these woods. The guard is much loosened now."

"Really? In what way?" Althan had some level of trust in this man, but he wasn't nearly blind or stupid to the point of not registering the interest Hlothran was showing towards this unusual matter. What interest could the goings of a foreign army have to a merchant?

"Oh, let us say that it is enough to keep the average individual out of our borders..." Hlothran realised that Althan's talkative mood had passed and ended the conversation with a nod.

By midday that day, the Palace gates presented themselves to the travelling party. After the first presentations to the Elven-king, it had been announced that a feast in honour of the men would be held that very night. The Rhûnians retreated to their appointed rooms for the remainder of the afternoon with an invitation from the Elven-king to feel free to explore the Palace. That left Althan alone with Thranduil to make his full report until nighttime came.

**----------------**

"Andruin!" Hlothran called out authoritary to one of his men. They had all gathered in his room and while the wood-elves were busy arranging the feast, they would make their own preparations for the night. The man called Andruin came forth in no time.

"Yes lord," the short man quickly replied, standing next to the leader with a strict discipline not usually seen among traders. He was short and muscular, and his skin told much about large amounts of exposure to the sun.

"Andruin... is everything set? Are our men ready in their positions?" He spoke calmly and gravely. The other could not help but to shudder slightly.

"I- I think so." Even as he said the words, he knew his leader would not be pleased. "I gave them your orders, lord."

"You _think_? I do not need you to _think_, Andruin! Get out there now and come back when you're sure of it!" Hlothran burst out in a dangerous hiss. The other shuddered a bit more violently but complied. "And while you're at it, I have a mission for your boy... He'll be perfect for it..."

"Yes, lord. Whatever you say, lord." With several nervous bows he brought his son before the man and left hurriedly to fulfill his orders. Andruin's son bore all of his father's traits, both physycal and psychological. He surely had no more than seventeen years of age. Hlothran eyed the lad and smiled, silently summoning another man who handed him a blue phial.

"Son of Andruin, our entire mission depends on what I'm about to ask of you. This feast the wood-elves are having for us, considerably makes our job an easier one. I want you to make use of the good King's offer and go to the cellars to mix the contents of this phial in every wine barrel in the Palace you find for the feast. Simple enough, don't you think?"

The youth stuttered somewhat, but took the phial and answered with eyes cast low nonetheless. "Yes, milord."

"It's very concentrated, so a few drops on each barrel is enough. Do you understand how important this is, son of Andruin?" Hlothran circled the youth and made full use of every inch of extra-height he had, burning holes into the smaller one with the intensity of his stare.

"Y- yes... my lord." Their eyes locked by accident as the lad tried to evade his lord's intimidating gaze and he rapidly lowered his head again, hiding the phial inside his tunic. "I understand."

"Good. Do not fail me, boy. You don't want that to happen, you won't like it, trust me." The slowly spoken words froze the lad on the spot, for he knew exactly what Hlothran was capable of. When the other's attention turned elsewhere, he felt released of that hold and went out of the room.

As he heard the door close, Hlothran lowly spoke out with an evil grin. "The wood-elves' downfall is close and the most ironical thing is they are having a feast to celebrate it..."

Andruin's son wasn't the only one who feared Hlothran. All of them did. The Rhûnians had always been very peaceful, living of what the land gave them and asking for little more from the world around them. For ages, that had been their way of living, but one day came to change everything.

That day had brought with it two cloaked foreigners. They appeared hurt and exhausted and their garments were worn as if they'd been travelling for a long time. Hlothran, their wise and just leader, offered them shelter while they recovered their strength. The three had entered the town center but Hlothran came out a different man. No one knew what had happened during the time when they had been alone, but their lord had somehow been transformed then and that was the whole reason why they were in Lasgalen.

The lad was walking through the strange palace corridors looking for the kitchens or the cellars, but could find none of those places as he'd magnificently managed to get himself utterly lost. His thougts had wandered far too much for him to be able to keep track of all the turns he'd made. And there seemed to be no one in sight to whom he could ask for directions. There wasn't a sound to be heard and that meant those halls were deserted...

"Who are you?" A female voice from behind caught him completely off-guard and he almost jumped three feet in the air.

"I- I... I'm..." Completely caught by surprise, he had the sudden and revolting feeling that the whole world knew of the phial and what he was meant to do with it. He was sure her deep eyes could read his every secret.

"Wait a second, you're one of those men from Rhûn, are you not?" His voice was still caught in a not at his throat, now for more than the original reasons, and he nodded in response. Before him was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, with long dark silky braids twined with silver thread. "What are you doing here?"

"I... I was looking for the kitchens..." Considering she was an elf, her beauty was expected, but that didn't make it easier on the lad. He'd never seen something quite like it. His nerves were now pulled tight, since he'd been stressed from that initial uncotrollable surge... why did he still think that she knew what he was up to?

"Oh... If you were hungry, you could have asked one of the servants for food. But if you wait just a little longer, the feast is about to start."

"NO!" She stared at him, not understanding his compromised urgency. "I... I can't wait, I'm not feeling very well, or rather I am, but... I'm really hungry." He said finishing with his eyes shut, not wanting to believe how pathetical that had sounded. Hlothran would have his head, if the wood-elves didn't have it first.

"Well... if you're so desperate, the kitchens are through there." She pointed to an intersecting corridor. "Second door on your left."

"Th- thank you..." he stuttered and made to leave as fast as his legs would take him, but she stopped him before he could go much further.

"Though, you didn't answer my first question, young one." When he looked back at her with non-understanding eyes, she added. "Your name...?"

"Oh... Andril... Andril, son of Andruin..."

**  
TBC...**


End file.
